


Waiting for Spring

by littlepurinsesu



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Character Study, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Ray route, Romance, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-05-29 12:39:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15073340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlepurinsesu/pseuds/littlepurinsesu
Summary: If I opened my heart up just enough for one flower—just that one very special flower that is her—then maybe it will eventually bloom into the beautiful garden of my dreams, and spring will finally come to me.





	1. Spring

**Author's Note:**

> Saeran Choi is the (fictional) love of my life, and even I couldn’t believe that I still haven’t written a fanfic for him. Now, allow me to rectify that!  
> I actually started writing this on the day after the twins’ birthday as both a birthday piece and a late entry for saeranchoiweek, but uni responsibilities and my own perfectionism when it comes to writing made the process a lot longer than I anticipated. At this point, I think I’m way too late to both parties, but I’m hoping this long overdue fic can still be counted as at least half an entry for our beloved marshmallow’s special week and a belated but heartfelt offering for his birthday.  
> This will also be my first multichapter fic (that’s not a collab) since my re-entry into the world of fanfiction. It’s not an insanely ambitious project or anything, but I’m still hoping that I’ll see this to the end, because our flowery boy deserves it.

Spring has come.

It doesn’t feel like long since the last time it was here, but even now, as the world slowly comes to life around me, I wait.

I’m always waiting.

For what, I’m not even sure myself. There seems to still be a tiny spark nestled within the deepest parts of my heart. It flickers every now and then, shines clearer sometimes and dimmer during others, but it’s there. That light assures me that if I keep holding on and keep trying harder, maybe one day I could be reborn as a new me. Stronger, brighter, happier, like the flowers when spring comes around and breathes new life into their sleeping buds. If spring could do that for me as well, then I guess one could say that I am waiting for spring.

Gentle rays of sunlight cast their warmth over dewy leaves and velvet petals, and the buds unfurl one at a time, slowly, as though they had all the time in the world. They are free, and although I am not, I feel happy for them.

Actually, I often wish I could join them. Maybe then, I would know what it’s like to have people waiting for you to come to life, to have spring kissing you awake from your long and dreamless slumber. Perhaps one day, spring would reach my heart, too, and I could spread my own petals and open myself up to all the hopes and promises of the new season. Just like these flowers.

But this is their spring, not mine.

My life knew no spring. The seasons come and go, but I knew nothing of the brightness of summer, the tranquility of autumn, or the peace of winter. There is only endless darkness. Cold, empty darkness that threatens to swallow me up whole. And whenever I feared that I would plummet so deep into the darkness that no spring could ever reach me even if I dared to call for it, I would escape to the garden.

Here, spring flourishes. Flowers blossom and birds sing, colours fill my vision and the scent of life permeates the air. There is still no spring in my heart, and perhaps there never will be. But the illusion of it comforts me.

And sometimes—very rarely, but sometimes—it almost feels like I could become one with the flowers. Maybe, if I weren’t burdened with the weight and loneliness that was etched into every inch of my being, I could be free like them. Free to bloom, free to grow, and free to live.

Perhaps spring is not something I deserve. I’m used to never having what I want (Savior says it’s because I’m weak), but there is something about this season that I can never stop yearning for. And yet, I know that the only way to not feel further despair and hurt is to not have this kind of hope in the first place.

So this year, I tell myself that I will stop waiting.

Spring and I were never meant to be, and if I try hard enough, maybe I’ll be able to accept that. And if not, if I work even harder, I could at least forget. Forget the hopes of blooming with the flowers and being embraced by the warmth of rebirth. Forget the hopes of ever having spring in my heart.

But then she came.

With eyes like life and a smile like hope, she was the dream I never even dared to conjure in my cold nights in front of lifeless computer screens. She placed her trust in me wholeheartedly, as though I had actually earned it, and was always willing to smile in my direction, or at the mere mention of my name.

My name is a mark of my weakness. It is the emblem of everything I have learned to despise about myself, all piled together to form the shameful and useless excuse of a human being that is me. And whenever I look at her bright countenance or steal a glance at her relaxed and lively movements, I wonder if she would shower the other me with the same tender affection, too.

She was light itself—a light bright enough to embrace every bud and petal and bring out the most dazzling blossoms this garden has ever seen.

I, too, wished to bloom in her light. And wordlessly, her touch assured me that I deserve to do that. I deserve to bloom, to live. I deserve spring.

I don’t dare ask for much, lest I become greedy. Just a touch is all I wish for. Only a touch of spring, and I will be content to continue on with the guilty pleasure of having experienced something that is too good for me.

Yet every time I see how my presence manages to be the reason for her joy, or the way she seeks my company as much as I long for hers, I wonder if I could dare to hope for more than just a touch of the spring that had never been meant for me.

Spring comes and goes with each passing year, and yet I wait.

But as I breathe in the scent she leaves in her wake and listen to the sweet notes of her melodic voice, somehow I feel that my wait may be over soon. She bloomed into my life like the most brilliant flower I could only imagine in my daydreams, and if she were the one and only flower to blossom in my spring, I would be content with that.

As she nurtures the tiny glimmer in my heart, I feel its light grow brighter. Brighter, clearer, and warmer, enough to bathe me in a gentle glow so that spring will be able to find me and make its way into my heart.

My heart is filled with nothing but loneliness and hatred and despair, and I wonder if there will be room for the flowers that she may want to plant in there. I cannot so easily clear out all the darkness in my heart, but if I opened myself up just enough for one flower—just that one very special flower that is her—then maybe it will eventually bloom into the beautiful garden of my dreams.

And so I spread my arms and invite spring into my life, whispering words of newfound hope. Softly, so I don’t scare it away. But will spring deign to embrace someone like me? I think of her, and I feel the courage to believe that it will.

Spring will come to me, and as always, I will be waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on [Tumblr](http://littlepurinsesu.tumblr.com/post/175312172041/waiting-for-spring).


	2. Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is spring incarnate, a being that brings hope and promises new beginnings. And as I feel the sunshine kiss every one of my dormant senses awake, I wonder what kind of flowers her heart will yield when her spring blossoms into summer.

It’s warm.

So warm that if I let myself go, I feel my body might melt into the grass below my feet or vaporize and drift away into the chilly evening air.

I hold my breath, eyes wide open, and dig my feet into the grass—anything in an attempt to ground myself. My mind’s a blur, and I almost dare to reach forward and touch her. To assure myself that this is reality, and the heat rising within me is not the raw burning that floods my body whenever I ingest the Elixir.

But I can’t. I’m afraid. Terrified that if I so much as place one of my filthy fingers on any part of her body, she would crumble and vanish into nothing, leaving not even a trace of this dream behind. I don’t even have the ability to register the pathetic sound—somewhere between a gasp and a sigh—that escapes my mouth. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s lost in the warmth of her lips pressed against mine, and somewhere in that warmth, I feel a touch of the happiness and paradise I’d been chasing my entire life.

She pulls away—too soon, too quickly—and when I look into her eyes, I see a promise of the love that had always been an unreachable fantasy to me. Yet the mere thought that someone so bright could willingly bestow such a beautiful love upon my worthless self is too overwhelming.

It couldn’t be true. No one could possibly love me in that way. In any way.

‘Wha… what… what was that? Was that some kind of punishment? Or…’

Or what? What could I be hoping for, dreaming of, other than punishment for daring to believe that love and happiness could be fit for someone like me?

I can’t quite read the look on her face, but even as she blinks at me, that light in her eyes from before shows no sign of flickering. It shines in my direction, and the more I look into her eyes, the more I feel it seeping into the cold depths of my soul, warming me up in a way that is both unfamiliar yet so soothing.

That’s right. If the seasons existed for me, I suppose this would be summer.

From what I’ve heard, summer is a time of life and joy. I’ve always imagined it to be filled with moments that make your heart soar, beating so fast and so hard that you feel the blood rushing to your head and staining your cheeks with a soft rosy glow.

And if this is what summer is, my first taste of this season has already left me craving for more. I’m drunk on this strange yet addictive feeling, and dizzy from the struggle in my mind between excitement and fear.

It’s a dream come true, a fairy tale come to life. But perhaps this happiness, like all small joys I have come across in the past, is to be ripped from my hands the moment I dare to close my fingers around it. I would rather end this moment before it becomes tarnished with the curse of my eternal anguish.

And so I flee. Yet, as my feet pound against the earth, I wish I’d stayed for longer.

Because if it really were all just a wondrous dream, I’m sure my dark and troubled mind could never conjure the same scenario ever again. The fleeting trace of summer I managed to feel would be left to drift away, guided to another kind of paradise where it truly belonged, one that knew no pain and suffering.

What follows is a restless night, and I lie awake, dreading the cold rush of loneliness in the morning when my dream would be replaced with bleak reality. It’s my fault for daring to envision this kind of fantasy, this illusion of which I am not worthy, and the loneliness is only a mild sentence I should be thankful for.

But summer burned on, brighter than ever, and melted into the next day.

I step out into the garden and revisit the site of last night’s miracle. The clouds are like fluffy whipped cream on a sweet blueberry ice-cream cake, and for the first time in my life, I feel that I can look up and start to believe that the affectionate warmth of the sun is reaching out to me as well. There are butterflies fluttering in my stomach, and somewhere in my heart, the lively colours of a soft rainbow begin to peek through after a lifetime of rain.

Deep down, I know I must have crossed the line. Yet each time I reprimand myself and prepare to turn myself in for the punishment I deserve, my mind wanders. And before I realise it, I am thinking about the colour of the sky that would make her look up in awe, the ideal picnic date that would make her heart race, the most gentle lullaby that would lull her into her dreams, the ice cream flavour she would enjoy, the dress colour she would prefer, the most ethereal evening, the perfect company, the sweetest kiss, the purest love, a love that’s kind, sincere, true…

Stop. No more.

And yet once more, the summer within me flares up. And again, I think of her. Of us.

My Saviour says I’m too obsessed, and that my feelings for her are blinding me from true salvation and paradise. But the tender breaths of the summer breeze beckon, and I find myself wanting to leave the artificial heat of these computers and seek her warmth instead. The desire within me is uncalled for, and I pause at times and wonder if this exhilarating sense of bliss is even my own, if my mind is even capable or allowed to experience such feelings.

I want to share these feelings with her. I want to share my summer with her, and even if I know that she has endless summers brighter than my wretched soul could ever hope to be, I would still willingly give my small fragment of summer to her if it meant I could see her face light up even more. Because the brightness of her smile is more precious to me than any amount of sunlight that summer can offer. I long to keep her warm and happy, even if it means giving away the first true summer season my life has ever known.

She is spring incarnate, a being that brings hope and promises new beginnings. And as I feel the sunshine kiss every one of my dormant senses awake, I wonder what kind of flowers her heart will yield when her spring blossoms into summer.

Or perhaps summer has already arrived for her as well. And if it has, my one selfish wish is that the reason is me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on [Tumblr](http://littlepurinsesu.tumblr.com/post/176596727411/waiting-for-spring-chapter-2).


End file.
